


play (see-through blinds)

by charcoalscenes



Series: what you haven't had before [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asphyxiation, Emotional Manipulation, Lowercase, Other, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Shapeshifting, Shapeshifting/Molded Sexual Entrance, Submission, Tentacles, fast build/pace, intercourse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4744172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalscenes/pseuds/charcoalscenes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“you’re good at this,” yuma says. “getting around, i mean, in our world. acting normal.” he pauses, and frowns as he admits, “pretending.” as though it’s too bad it’s the truth.</p><p>ninety-six smiles at him, glowing, more pleased at the admittance than at the compliment. “thanks,” ze replies. “nice to know you enjoy my domestication.”</p><p>•</p><p>in the midst of a new mission, ninety-six takes advantage of a spat between astral, the leader ze doesn’t want, and yuma, who ninety-six would kill for a chance to keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Published on 96 Day! 
> 
> Mind the warnings in the tags. Additional warning!: What is your impression of amateur, low-budget porn videos? Because this is of a similar kind of quality. Enjoy!

ninety-six never favored guns. too impersonal, but ze supposes that’s what so many people of this weak species need in order to properly hurt others; these creatures are so frail that when they try fighting up-close they only end up hurting themselves as well, it’s pitiful.

but ze can appreciate _some_ aspects of the vulgar (and to hir, unnecessary) weapon. like the way yuma has to focus on his target in order to use it, how the young one’s eyes flash just before he pulls the trigger, the brief glint of triumph and satisfaction ninety-six sees in yuma before the duelist has to move on.

it also gives yuma a good reason to hold his arms up, straight, a perfect display of relaxed muscles and warm skin. yuma is so focused on the ridiculous arcade game that he doesn’t notice ninety-six approach, and doesn’t even shift from the number’s presence once ninety-six takes the time to stop and admire him. it’s not a bad look for yuma at all.

it’s even a shame that it’s just a game yuma’s playing; ninety-six knows that an angry yuma in battle would be quite a sight, but the mortal would never let himself. unfortunately.

yuma loses and curses under his breath, quickly moving to grab more tokens from his pocket. ninety-six slips hir own into the slots, and takes the liberty of changing the game’s settings into two-player mode while yuma preoccupies himself with gawking at his new teammate.

“i don’t know how to play,” ninety-six says sweetly in greeting, shrugging in a helpless sort of way and loving the beginnings of a responding cringe in yuma’s face. “teach me. it looked like you were having fun!”

a lie; yuma almost looked like he wanted the bloodbath to be real as well. the kid was blowing off steam obviously enough for any passerby to realize, his narrowed eyes too angry for the tension there to be just from the game’s difficulty. ninety-six smiles knowingly, and plays it off by questioning, “now, i know this is the trigger. what are these buttons on the sides for?”

yuma only frowns deeper, torn between giving a predictable grumble of “i’m not playing anymore” versus the temptation of the game continuing once more from its last checkpoint. ninety-six expects a quick explanation, rushed and callous and just-tolerant of ninety-six’s mere presence as always, but yuma turns back to the game instead. “just watch me,” he mutters, as though ninety-six hasn’t been already, but yuma probably thought ze had only caught sight of him just now. the number does as yuma says anyway. legs spread apart, back defiantly straight, fiery eyes holding more tension now than before ninety-six made hir presence known – it isn’t a hard order to follow.

“i see,” ninety-six murmurs, just barely having paid attention to the actual controls and game mechanics. “thanks, yuma.” hir own stance is casual, one-handed with hir front still facing yuma, ready to turn hir attention back to the other at any time. “you’re really good at this,” ninety-six compliments, honed on yuma’s eyes narrowing with a mix suspicion and pleasure at hearing something so rare to come from the number be addressed to him. “i can only imagine how well you’d be at the real thing,” ninety-six doesn’t add aloud. it’s nice to see yuma finally preen at hir praises for once; no need to ruin the mood.

in no time and to no surprise, ninety-six loses, hir concentration lacking and the games in the arcade really not what ze came here for in the first place. ze leans on the machine’s side, earning a quick irritated look from yuma, but otherwise yuma keeps playing, doing surprisingly well in ignoring or at least bearing with ninety-six’s obvious if quiet stare.

when yuma’s character dies again, he makes no move to put in more tokens, and neither does ninety-six. both plastic guns are returned to their slots. “i gotta go,” yuma mumbles, and ninety-six allows it. yuma’s face is still harsh after the energy he put into playing, and the tension that failed to escape him gathers in his arms and shoulders, hunching them as he leaves. ninety-six appreciates his retreating back, though ze can’t help but feel disappointed, having hoped to get yuma in the mood to talk, at least.

tomorrow again.

 

* * *

 

the last human ninety-six had worn was quite beautiful, though the experience was short-lived; in a few hours, astral had found hir and forced hir out of that shell, the woman finding herself with unfamiliar company and no memory of how they had all come to meet. astral helped her discontinue her cult initiation before ninety-six had been thrown back into imprisonment for weeks.

the temptation is still there, though. ze hadn’t thought of it before, but ze wonders how that would have went for yuma, if ze could have gotten to the duelist while astral was absent, dressed as someone else and feigning harmlessness like that devious barian vector had done. ze eyes the people passing by and imagines hirself moving with their forms, smiling at yuma, acting like the perfect overly-outgoing new friend he'd have loved. another shame, then.

ze catches yuma stepping out of the dueling arena – a small, shabby thing in the mall. ninety-six doesn’t quietly tail him this time, instead stepping up and revealing hirself with a soft smile. yuma startles, for a moment much like his usual self – all wide eyes and jumpy – and then he glowers. “are you following me?”

ninety-six shrugs. “why?” ze replies, challenging. “will you tell astral?”

that does the trick – yuma’s eye twitches, and realizing his shown weakness, quickly tries to hide the expression by turning away. ninety-six’s smile grows. “right, sorry.” ze isn’t even spared another glare for the sarcasm, yuma being too caught up in his own musings. ninety-six takes the opportunity to come close. “actually, that’s who i wanted to talk with you about. please?”

the last word is spoken with the same insincerity that the apology was, but yuma looks up at that, brows furrowed with naïve perplexity, as though ninety-six just bothering to say “please” is some kind of feat. he’s so endearingly pathetic. “ _what about_ astral?” yuma asks.

“the guy hasn’t been _home_ –” ninety-six points out, and yuma’s eyes flutter in surprise. “–and hasn’t been with you, right? so, i checked if astral was spending all this time surveying the fifth planet. looking for its weak points, hassling the ambassadors. _fun_ things you probably don’t care about–” yuma gives hir a dirty look, the resentment he’s pent up nearly coming out with its full fury, and all for ninety-six. but this is hardly the ideal setting to play with yuma’s anger appropriately, so ninety-six veers from hir teasing. “not there either. not in astral world, not with the barians. let me guess: you’d have no idea where your _partner_ would be either?”

yuma forces himself to take a deep breath, and he deflates. it’s a good enough answer for ninety-six. “should i be worried,” yuma mutters, not meeting ninety-six’s eyes. “i haven’t felt anything off from my side of our link, and i guess you and the other numbers haven’t either. astral’s fine – just sulking somewhere.”

if there’s anything ninety-six feels sincerely in this moment, it’s the mix of pleasure and something like pride in the face of yuma’s scoffing and grudging disregard for the number’s try-hard leader, and ze barely stops hirself from praising the rare gloominess in yuma’s demeanor.

“i need to tell you something,” ze says. yuma side-eyes hir, more curious than suspicious. “about your and astral’s little _argument_. we all know that nothing will get done so long as the two of you continue your little spat.”

it’s rare that ninety-six has the need hide the malice from hir tone when telling a lie; it hasn’t been since ze’d occupied the body of the senator that ze’s had any need to. but ze still manages, and well. “i want to help,” ze convinces, hoping hir face is as soft and demure as ze’d have it be.

yuma blinks, and asks dubiously, “how?”

 

* * *

 

the _home_ that astral and ninety-six share during their stays on earth, other than yuma’s house, is a small thing closer to heartland tower; one floor that reminds ninety-six of a hotel more than a house, but it would do. they tend to stay there _especially_ when ninety-six tags along, yuma sometimes not having enough of a stomach to always be comfortable with that number particularly in his home, in the vicinity of his family.

he’s become more and more accepting of ninety-six as of late though, in no small part because of the utter control astral has over ninety-six’s freedom should the number take one step out of line, and ninety-six has no choice but to be perfectly behaved – especially when yuma’s involved.

ninety-six figures it’s why yuma has enough confidence and, displaced as it is, _trust_ in ninety-six not to hurt him when he accepts the invitation to come over, despite that, for the first time, it’s just the two of them; no astral.

they take the short train ride there, standing close and holding onto a bar since all the car’s seats are taken. ninety-six doesn’t mind the silence between them but senses yuma’s eyes on hir. ninety-six meets it head-on, and yuma looks down again.

soon.

“you’re good at this,” yuma brings up quietly. ninety-six waits for him to continue. “getting around, i mean, in our world. acting normal.” he pauses, and frowns as he admits, “pretending.” as though it’s too bad that’s the truth.

ninety-six smiles at him, glowing, more pleased at the admittance than at the intended compliment, but ze might as well start playing with yuma now. “thanks,” ze replies. “nice to know you enjoy my domestication.”

yuma scowls, like the phrasing leaves a bad taste with him. “it shouldn’t _have_ to be,” he mutters, peering at ninety-six. “it looks good on you. don’t you think you can learn to be happier like this?”

ninety-six nearly groans. ze wonders if yuma knows ze was conceived in battle, if he can ever understand that violence and malice is too much a part of hir being that ze couldn’t bear to do anything at the time of hir birth other than grab and bruise and thirst for destruction. ze briefly closes hir eyes instead of voicing those thoughts and leans on the pole, peeking at yuma’s earnestness.

“what for?” ninety-six counters.

yuma blinks and begins listing, tone dripping with the assumption that it should have been obvious. “because it’s more fun this way! what do you get from trying to break things and hurt people when, in the end, there’ll be nothing there to be with anymore if you do? you’re spending so much time with astral and the others now, after all. you always used to be alone, didn’t you? you’re not now.”

it’s silent, but ninety-six can hear it, can see it in how yuma’s eyes are finally, after days, bearing directly to hirs: _you’re with me now._ “you don’t think it feels better like this?” he finishes.

ninety-six has considered it. even now, ze feels astral’s influence coursing through hir insides, like astral is in hir blood, _monitoring_ hir, and it feels like a leash. the other numbers still regard hir warily and are always aware of just what would happen should that leash ever snap. ninety-six knows that nothing – not the time spent understanding astral better or admiring yuma more and more since hir revival – would stop hir from wrecking this entire train and wrapping as much of hirself around yuma now to just take him away if only astral’s power over hir were to break.

ze stares at yuma’s expectancy and answers, “they’re not what i want.” ze doesn’t roll hir eyes at yuma’s innocence and look away, wanting yuma to see the truth of what ze says, wanting yuma to see the implication underneath – what and who has been the only thing ninety-six really wants now. yuma only acknowledges the surface, though, face falling with disappointment rather than shining with fear.

the rest of the ride is yuma moping from his own thoughts, and despite the foolishness it involves on yuma’s part, ninety-six can’t help but gloat at the fact that, for once, the one yuma is agonizing over at the moment is hir.

astral should be absent more often.


	2. Chapter 2

the sun sets quickly, the short walk from the trains to where ninety-six has rested for the past few days accompanied by the steady dimming of the sky. yuma finally has the sense to fidget nervously when ninety-six unlocks the front door. “after you,” ze encourages, and yuma hides his uneasiness badly, frown tight and fists hiding in his pockets as he steps inside.

the tiny living room greets them, an empty couch in front of a silent television. beyond that is the kitchen, seen already from the entrance – and in the far end of the house would be the bath- and bedrooms. they both already know astral isn’t yet there either.

ninety-six leads him to the kitchen, pulling out a chair for him to sit and going to the fridge. “the usual?” ze asks, and yuma grunts affirmatively. ninety-six hirself doesn’t need to drink, but pours two glasses of juice anyway.

“this will come as no surprise, i’m sure,” ze begins, placing the drinks on the small table and sitting across from hir guest. “but for once, i think _fearless leader_ is right.” yuma glares into his drink as ninety-six smacks hir lips from sipping hir own before continuing. “but that’s neither here nor there. it doesn’t matter what _my_ input is, anyway. what we should really talk about is you.”

yuma mutters, “what’s there to talk about?” his fingers tense and squeeze around his glass. “you already know. i don’t want astral to pick a fight with them right away, to threaten people based on just suspicions. i don’t care if the rumors that they want to hurt us are true; it isn’t–” he grits his teeth, remembering that it’s nearly exactly the same words he told astral. “it isn’t like astral to be like this.”

ninety-six doesn’t scoff aloud, but grunts nonetheless, “that’s pathetic.” yuma’s eyes flutter wide with indignation. “is that what you said when you wanted to inspire a change of heart? it’s as though you don’t know astral at all.”

ze holds up two fingers in counting before yuma’s face and let’s the resentment ze’s held seep into hir voice. “for one, don’t lie to yourself. this is _just_ like astral to do; it’s done to me plenty enough. second, your passivity is just _sad_. astral isn’t going to drop _all of astral world’s plans_ just because you whine. i would’ve thought you’d be tougher than that.”

yuma’s hands twitch, his palms darting to lay flat on the table before him. “what am i supposed to do, huh?” he snaps, leaning forward. “you think i don’t know how useless i look like right now? the _only thing i can do_ is whine! i can’t make astral just do what i say!”

“no,” ninety-six agrees. “you can’t. a human wouldn’t stand a chance, not even you.”

“that’s not what i mean,” yuma growls, eyes narrowing. of course, how _noble_ – yuma would never choose to actually _fight_ his partner.

“but you could at least try,” ninety-six says, finally fleshing out the subject that’s been on hir mind since yuma and astral’s thoughts had begun to diverge in the face of this new mission. “instead of simply _begging_ astral to please-try-things-your-way, you can at least _try_ to be more firm. the way you are now, it’s obvious you don’t care as much about treating that planet well as much as you say you do.”

fury clouds yuma’s expression again, and ninety-six doesn’t derail it this time, now that they’re alone and nobody's here to save yuma from his own desire to lash out. “you know what i noticed since we’ve started to be _friends_ , yuma?” ninety-six tries to prod him further. “astral can make any stance sound like it’s the only right one in the world. that guy can shoot you down for the smallest disagreement.” red eyes flicker in recognition; yuma may know that part of astral better than anyone, even ninety-six. “the rest of your friends aren’t so different. _you’re_ the only one who’s weak when it comes to what you stand for. the most you do is wail for what you want, but otherwise all you do is roll over and show your belly.”

ze wonders if the goading is too strong, if ze should grab at yuma’s wrist now to try and stop him from leaving, if the action would be soft and harmless enough for astral not to detect. yuma makes no move to stand though, despite the anger rolling from him. his voice rumbles low past his teeth, and ninety-six delights in it. “why are you telling me this? what are you getting at?”

“it’s been days since this stalemate,” ninety-six replies. “you’re not doing anything, astral’s not doing anything. emperor hope and the rest of the numbers are limited without either of you directing us. it’s _boring_ ,” ze finishes, deadpanning. “hurry up and _make_ astral see things your way so that we can finally _do something_. make that guy listen to you the way you convince people through dueling. or make others listen to you the way _i_ would.”

the memories of ninety-six’s methods of persuasion come to them both – glory days for ninety-six when ze could freely hold hir target down and force submission, and a different kind of experience entirely for yuma. the number can already see the shape of a rejection for the idea on yuma’s lips, but interrupts, “try it on me.”

the desired effect is brought out, yuma pausing and giving hir another dubious look. “what?”

ninety-six stands and makes hir way around the table. yuma stands now too, more than alert, and ninety-six feels hir own fingers twitch with the desire to stoke the flame of yuma’s bit of fear. instead, ze behaves.

“ _what?_ ” yuma repeats, snapping, as ninety-six crowds him onto the table. sharp fingers are raised in a benign display.

“i said try it,” ninety-six says, would-be clarifying, and places hir hands on either side of yuma much more slowly than ze would have preferred. “fight me. letting yourself get pushed back never does you much good. push me back instead.” yuma’s jaw hangs, but ninety-six stays steady, carving the startled expression before hir to memory. “pretend i’m astral.”

yuma’s face flares red, his hands flying up and shoving ninety-six away. ninety-six barely stumbles. “ _no!_ ” yuma hisses. “that’s–…”

ninety-six has half the mind to slap him just as the number knows astral must have been tempted to, but grabs him by the wrist instead. firm enough to entrap, softly enough that yuma can still fight hir to get away. the need for such a balance is infuriating, but with another silent curse astral’s way, ninety-six manages.

“i’m trying to _help_ you,” the number insists.

“i can’t pretend you’re astral!” yuma cries, eyes wide with a disbelief at his own words, at the suggestion. “that’s _weird_ , and you’re nothing alike. it’s a bad idea!–”

yuma wrenches from ninety-six’s grasp and makes to step around hir. the number follows his movements and blocks him from making for the door, shoulders wide and arms hanging tense by hir sides. yuma tsks and glares. “move–”

“why are you so against fighting your partner?” ninety-six frowns as ze asks. “you have _always_ been weak when it comes to astral. what if astral really will go through with our original plan, with or without your support; what will you do, lay on your back and let it happen?”

"you don't know anything about what i feel for astral!"

what ninety-six does know is what ze's seen – yuma holding onto astral much the same way ninety-six held onto yuma just now, restraining and tight, and astral breaking from the grip as easily as if yuma were a newborn. what ninety-six knows are blurred memories ze’s glimpsed at hir resurrection, a moment in astral's past when yuma had roared for obedience and demanded it more strongly than he does now.

it shows ninety-six more about yuma than astral, admittedly, and that rare desire the human has to force and control only has the number wanting to touch and know that malice more.

"there were times when you look at astral the way i do," ninety-six argues. yuma's brows come together. "in memories i was allowed to see at my resurrection, and lately too. if astral were human, you’d stop any attempt to ignore you the way i did with you, wouldn't you? you’d try to keep _anyone else_ still until they listen to you. but you stop yourself," ze accuses. "you stop yourself from trying hard enough that astral _sees your point_."

and the number knows ze's right from the coiled fists and tight muscles, the way yuma's jaw juts forward instead of opening to make quick objections to ninety-six's observations. "i'm not like you," yuma responds.

"i know you're not." in full power, ninety-six would not stop at merely groping hir target and keeping him still simply to _make him listen_. "i'm not saying you should be."

ze backs away, and yuma blinks up at the retreat. "i'm telling you to be what you already know you _want_ to be without holding yourself back. unless you _want_ to keep being a person who's easy to walk away from?"

the mirth usually accompanying ninety-six's mocking is absent, and yuma finds himself following when ze goes to the front door. "where are you going?"

"if you can't be convinced to take action, then i'll go to the _other one_." ninety-six peers at yuma as ze answers. "not that i want to, but disregarding the fact that it's astral, i _do_ actually prefer our world’s methods to your overly optimistic attempts at peace."

astral had frowned down at him too. despite the contrasting attitudes, they do look alike, with traits of one inevitably rubbing onto the other and vice-versa. if yuma had more time to consider it, the idea of astral giving more weight to ninety-six's opinion than hir own partner's would seem unlikely, but the brief thought of what astral might do with the other's outspoken support makes yuma stammer. "wait!"

ninety-six doesn't, past the living room when yuma grasps hir shoulder and turns hir around. "i said wait!"

ze does, stopping and staring at yuma expectantly. "don't go," yuma gives in and orders. the grip he has on ninety-six slacks as he realizes what he's succumbing to. "don't go to astral. just– just talk to _me_."

he sighs and releases the hir, giving a near-apologetic look, but before he begins to regret keeping hir, ninety-six speaks. "you pushed me away before," ze says without accusation, "and held onto me and demanded i stay. and you're not done with me – if i chose to keep cornering you, you would’ve fought, and if i kept trying to leave, you would've forced me to stay. you act this way easily enough with me–" ze steps closer. "–it's time you learn to do the same with astral."

and yuma watches hir finish the words with a different tinge to hir skin, with the markings on hir face shifting like paint in water to match ones he’s more familiar with – astral’s. yuma’s jaw hangs, and ninety-six finishes by letting hir own clothes dissipate, showing yuma a blue in hir flesh much different from astral’s but still similarly iridescent, a mix of astral’s sky-colored flesh with a steely gray.

without blinking, ninety-six’s eyes change to match hir new skin, and yuma sees an antagonistic astral. the image is unnerving and almost reminiscent of the time astral was angriest at him, but even with ninety-six behind the mask, the face is too calm for yuma to think it as exactly the same.

still, he stutters and backs away. “what?” he stares at the number, giving hir a once over – blunted nails, a different sort of posture. ninety-six was serious about pretending to be astral, and yuma suddenly finds that it isn’t difficult to go along with the idea at all. “how…?”

the hand that stops yuma from inching away is not rough or demanding, the touch merely decisive but light, fingers delicately touching on his wrist. the mask doesn’t change its expression, so steady that it looks almost serene despite the irritation, and it frowns down at yuma, tilting towards him just slightly, waiting.

and yuma recognizes the gesture as well as ninety-six had– enough for the number to have observed it and copied it from the original hirself. “…don’t go,” yuma reluctantly continues, moving their linked arms so that he holds onto the other’s hand. “astral.”

the hand yuma grips tighter seems almost demure in how unresistant to his hold it is, just like the mask, but the verbal response is as clipped and callous as yuma would dread. “you have no idea what you’re asking for.” the tone is near scolding. “every time you ask for me to stand down, you risk granting our enemies more time to plan an attack on _my world_.”

yuma crowds forward. “they don’t have to be our enemies–”

“then they are _mine_.” where ninety-six would have normally spat, the reply is spoken low and firm and no less cutting. “this is astral world’s battle more than it is yours. you still have such little understanding of how weak our world’s defenses are. _i_ am still the best weapon my world has. your demands for peace are wasteful, yuma.” it was everything that the last cringe yuma caught on astral’s face before they’d mutually stormed out on each other had conveyed; it was every resentment yuma could sense from astral that his partner merely chose not to say. “you know nothing – not enough to know what’s best in this situation.” yuma’s head hangs lower at the abridge: “a bystander.”

not even a smile; there’s none of the laughter or jest that would have, unbelievably, comforted yuma from the put-down – that would have served as a reminder that these were more ninety-six’s words more than astral’s. but there is nothing to indicate that it’s the number behind the somber face, and it is the closest yuma has ever come to finding astral and this shadow similar at all.

that the comparison has to be made now, because of _this_ , is more infuriating than saddening, and yuma growls, glaring back at his partner. “really?” yuma hisses. “that’s the _worst_ thing for you to say. you’re acting like you haven’t changed at all from when we met when i _know_ you have! you _know_ you don’t have to fight on your own – you don’t even have to fight at all! _i’m_ here, and we’ve always been able to deal with our problems better by connecting with people.”

the barest tick in hir lips, almost a sneer, and it’s all yuma needs to ground himself again; despite astral’s own strong feelings on the matter, yuma can imagine and remember vividly how astral would react to these words, and that wasn’t it. ninety-six scoffs with a forcibly calm face and finally steps back, sliding from yuma’s hold only to be grabbed onto again.

this reaction, too, is enough to encourage yuma to continue, somehow feeling it easier with the subtle reminders that the one before him is acting as a copy as opposed to truly pretending that ze’s the original. grey-and-gold eyes flicker wide in surprise, and yuma growls. “i’m _not done_ with you!”

the alien’s lips purse tightly, eyes squinting again ( _in anger?_ yuma wonders) before ze comes forward. yuma stands his ground, defiantly glaring at his stoney-faced companion until the number pushes him, causing him to stumble back. “hey–”

a few more steps and the back of his legs hit the end of the sofa. the other follows him as he falls onto it, silent as ze slides easily on top of yuma, hands on either side of him and propped up, shoulders wide and nearly blocking the home’s light.

yuma waits for hir to do more, maybe spit out more demeaning points or insults, but ze doesn’t, simply glaring down at yuma from the domineering position. “what?” yuma challenges. through and through, despite how controlled ze’s trying to be, yuma sees ninety-six clearly through the disguise. “you want to hit me? i know you’re stronger than me. is this supposed to scare me into just going along with what you want?”

when he reaches up to grip ninety-six’s shoulders, the number doesn’t stop him, and yuma pulls, turning them around so that they flip, ninety-six tense under his palms but looking would-be pliant as yuma makes it so he’s propped on top of the number.

yuma takes his turn to glare. “don’t look down on me.” unlike ninety-six, his hands still push down on the number by the shoulders, ninety-six rigid in the hold. “even now, you look down on the rest of the people around you, thinking you’re so much better. you think you’d be better off if you could go off on your own, but you’re _wrong_.”

almost as though it’s for the sheer sake of disobedience, ninety-six juts hir jaw forward and tilts hir face up, haughty, but yuma keeps going. “you’ve been with me for so long already, and with all our friends. shouldn’t you have learned by now that opening up to the people around you is better than just jumping to a fight at every conflict? haven’t you spent enough time with us that you might have changed at least a little bit–”

“and i told _you_ –” the mask that had been gradually losing its passivity cracks finally into a sneer and a display of teeth as it dawns on ninety-six just who yuma’s come to address. though ze doesn’t lash out, yuma feels the muscles of the other knot in the upset. “–they’re not what i want; i have no interest in getting close to your _friends_ , and it’s certainly not what i or astral needs!”

“then what _do_ you want!” his partner’s facsimile is still displayed on the surface, but the irate glare directed at him is too overt for yuma to see anyone but ninety-six. he sticks with ninety-six’s original intent anyway, knowing that he’d have a better chance in getting any reaction from the other through keeping up the act than through outright confronting hir. “what’s going to get you to listen to me? what do you need for you to obey me?”

ninety-six rears up, the hands yuma had pressed on hir sliding to the side and knocking yuma’s balance so that he nearly falls over. the number catches yuma by side of his neck to keep him steady, and yuma expects more cruel words, or to be shoved off, or even an attempt at choking him. he grunts and nearly pulls himself away before it registers that ninety-six is still silent, hir hold gruff but not painful.

the alien’s face draws near slowly, until yuma notices the way ninety-six’s eyes dart to yuma’s lips, and ninety-six stops, the hint of uncertainty the most vulnerable ze has ever let yuma seen from hir.

yuma swallows. “ninety-six?” as though yuma gasping hir name is a cue, ninety-six tilts hir face in an angle that confirms yuma’s growing suspicion on what ninety-six’s answer to his last question might be. instead of pressing, the number waits, hir other hand sliding to yuma’s waist.

“yuma.”

ninety-six has never elaborated what – within the circumstances that now make hir subservient to astral and yuma both – would make hir more content, more _tame_ , but this is the closest to an answer that ninety-six has given him. so, gently, yuma leans the rest of the way and kisses hir.


	3. Chapter 3

it stays soft, surprisingly, until they fall back on the sofa together. ninety-six’s lips are full, like astral’s, enough that yuma can suck and tug at them playfully. ninety-six hums softly, and opens hir mouth to yuma’s as they lie down, tongue pushing in and feeling. both hir arms wrap around yuma’s waist and clench, pinning him on top of hir, and yuma rests himself completely onto ninety-six’s strength, letting his arms relax by their sides.

yuma pulls back with ninety-six still holding onto his lips between hir teeth. the number releases him, eyes lidded and relaxed, appraising yuma leisurely, and despite who it is beneath him, yuma finds the expression almost familiar – startlingly so. his hand comes up to ninety-six’s cheek and strokes, testing the waters, and at the affection, the number’s face remains devoid of any aggression or chagrin. ninety-six leans into him, and from their lower halves, yuma feels hir rub against him, smooth legs sliding wide easily with the movement.

the escalation makes yuma jump up, ninety-six’s arms keeping him from getting far. “shhh.” ninety-six stops, catching yuma’s hand and holding it where it was on hir face. yuma nearly gawks at the action. coupled with the golden eyes narrowed to slits and the small, leery smile, it almost comes across as sweet.

and it’s almost calming to rub his thumb against ninety-six’s cheek. “is this what you want,” yuma blurts out, voice small now compared to what it was before. he sputters as the number regards the question, silent. “…me?” he clarifies.

ninety-six’s answer is quiet, like a sigh, or a reluctant resignation. “yes.”

one hand climbs and creeps behind yuma’s neck, pressing him down. ninety-six’s fingers rake and tug at the hair there as they kiss. yuma pulls back anyway, the pain from ninety-six’s hold making him cry out briefly, and ninety-six hones in on the sound, gripping yuma’s hair and nearly forcing him back into a kiss just to swallow the small scream. yuma bites ninety-six’s jaw in retribution, teeth clamping hard enough to leave a mark on weaker flesh, and sucks.

ninety-six’s groan is something rougher, close to a grunt, and ze guides yuma lower on hir neck. ze forces the noise ze nearly makes at yuma kissing hir there to stay in hir throat, and it doesn’t help when yuma asks against hir, breathy, “can your skin get hickeys too?”

“i don’t know,” ninety-six replies. “try it anyway.”

yuma answers the impatience by clamping down again, harder, where his own pulse would be. “ _yuma!_ ” ninety-six’s cry is pained though ze doesn’t pull either of them away, hands only curling more harshly onto yuma’s hair.

he sucks, feeling ninety-six rub his back and the hips that had oh-so-considerately stopped grinding against him continue once more. yuma can already feel the effects of ninety-six’s movements, and at the certainty of where this is going, he starts to tremble.

and ninety-six’s hands twitch at the tension growing in yuma, making him shake. the next bite from yuma is hard with not just the desire to make even someone as strong as ninety-six feel it but from a new nervousness, and ninety-six moans at how yuma’s quivering reaches even his teeth, how they nearly chatter, like an agitated dog gnawing on a bone.

“sweet boy,” ninety-six praises. yuma’s reaction is not to calm, and ninety-six coos in approval, “keep going, sweet boy.” the hand on yuma’s waist roams down, nails dragging and hooking onto his pants, and pull down.

one of yuma’s hands flies to grab ninety-six’s wrist, stopping hir. “ninety-six…”

yuma is pulled back down, ninety-six resting yuma’s forehead against hir own, and yuma sees it again before and during the next kiss – a soft kind of look, as barely taut or mean as ninety-six has worn, and as far as yuma knows, this is the only time the number has appeared even close to longing. and it is for yuma.

“not so fast,” is all yuma can think to demand, then. ninety-six wrings free from yuma’s grip and attacks yuma’s belt, unbuckling it rather efficiently and wrenching it off. “not so fast!” he repeats, not as firm as he’d been going for, finding his breath short from the other’s obvious excitement.

ninety-six only shushes him quietly again, both hands coming to yuma skin, one sliding up his shirt and the other dipping down his pants, digging fingers quickly cupping yuma from outside his briefs and petting. yuma mewls loudly against it, grabbing onto ninety-six’s arms with the vague intent to pull ninety-six away. his grip is tight but unmoving, though, and yuma barely resists bobbing his hips down against hir.

it’s dizzying – the pace that they’re spiraling into this with, the blood rushing to his face, the satisfaction ninety-six sees him with. he’s hard enough to seriously consider trying to ask ninety-six what will happen next – his clothes on or off, how will they _finish_ – when his shirt is pulled, the hand that’d been feeling him underneath fisting the cloth from the inside and stretching it out, tearing.

yuma’s lust dissipates some at the sound, at the sensation of his shirt indenting into his skin. “hey–” he doesn’t get the chance to say _stop_ or _wait_ or _don’t_ , ninety-six finishing the job quickly and ripping his shirt open. the ruined thing is thrown to the floor from ninety-six’s grip, and yuma pulls away.

the hand in his pants squeezes, just enough pain to warn yuma against creating distance, and ninety-six’s other arm wraps around yuma’s waist again as yuma hisses. “yuma…”

“ _don’t!_ ” ninety-six strokes again, no longer soft, and the hand at yuma’s waist tugs at his pants, briefs caught with it. yuma squirms, and ninety-six maneuvers hirself, shifting lower underneath yuma and kissing one of his nipples, chaste before tugging on it gently between hir lips.

his erection is still in his briefs when he pushes ninety-six down, digging one arm under the number’s jaw and pressing on hir throat, his other hand still trying to squeeze ninety-six’s wrist. “ _quit it_ ,” yuma growls. ninety-six finally pauses, startled and head forced back completely onto the cushions. yuma digs his arm harder against hir. “disobeying me again.” ninety-six’s eyes widen at that, open and vulnerable once more, and yuma stares into those emotions as he continues. “you said you’d do as i say, but maybe i really just have to _make you_.”

the arm in yuma’s grasp becomes pliant, yuma’s will winning again by the influence ninety-six is a slave to, and he moves the wrist over ninety-six’s head, the number’s other hand soon joining.

ninety-six is held like that, prostrate as yuma one-handedly removes the rest of his clothes on his own, letting them fall to the floor. peering up at the mortal above him, ninety-six almost wishes this were real, almost wishes that yuma is, by his own strength, forcing ninety-six still, making ninety-six wait, making ninety-six take whatever yuma is willing to offer. almost.

yuma would shatter underneath hir if ninety-six had hir way, would keen and beg for what ninety-six would deliver until he wouldn’t be able to think anymore, until he’d be reduced to nothing but squirms and moans, wet and wet and wet.

let him have his fun. ninety-six plays again, the wrists beneath yuma’s grip writhing, a vain attempt to pull free. yuma bites ninety-six’s lips in retribution, teeth tight as they close on the skin there.

“where do you like being touched most?” yuma asks against hir lips. the number preoccupies hirself with trying to kiss back – teeth or no? – when yuma’s hands squeeze hir, on hir hands and waist. “tell me.”

ninety-six doesn’t know. for months and months, ze’s yearned and fantasized to do the touching, to do what is obvious yuma is thinking of doing now – take yuma by the mouth, his length, take yuma deep inside him, and wreck him. so, ninety-six stays silent, wondering if the answer is hir lips, or even the palm of hir hands and in the embrace of hir tentacles, where ze would keep yuma at if ze could. ze wonders what yuma would do if ninety-six tells him any of this, if yuma would let hir, if yuma would take one of hir slithering limbs into his mouth and bite, if yuma could be convinced to have ninety-six return the favor and let the number taste his hardness too.

yuma’s teeth clamp near the base of ninety-six’s neck, bone and tongue scraping and sinking onto the skin and gem there. another noise softer and sweeter than ninety-six’s usual cries comes out again and dissolves into a moan when yuma sucks. the feel of yuma’s lips don’t leave ninety-six’s skin, yuma sliding his open-mouth kiss to the the other side of hir neck and doing the same to the mirrored area there.

“you won’t say.” yuma muses. “do you want me to find out on my own?” he lays on top of ninety-six entirely, letting his weight settle heavily onto hir once more, the hardness of him nestling obtrusively between the number’s still-open legs.

ninety-six inhales, sharp and deep as hir eyes flutter wide at the feeling. yuma doesn’t see the reaction this time, though, lips and teeth exploring ninety-six’s chest and traveling slowly down, as far as he can without releasing ninety-six’s arms from over hir head. he only considers that the uneven breaths ninety-six’s chest heaves with might not be from his mouth’s ministrations when the legs at his sides move again, rubbing his skin before ninety-six presses hir hips up, fitting yuma into the space between hir thighs.

yuma stops and leans back, jaw hanging at the realization of where his partner is guiding him, but ninety-six clarifies before he can ask. “touch me there.”

“b…but…” yuma would have probably thought of it as some sort of nasty joke if not for the haze of lust and complete absence of ridicule in hir face. but, shame that it might be to admit it, yuma has _looked_ at that part of ninety-six before, that part of _astral_ before, in moments when either would float above him or otherwise splay themselves without a care for how others might view them. “there’s…nothing there?”

and ninety-six _does_ smile at him then, crooked and sharp and all the pretense of roleplay gone as hir hips persist, prodding yuma’s length to nestle into the crook of hir, and so yuma does.

if ninety-six wants him to grind himself dry onto hir, he’s not exactly complaining.

but he feels himself blush harder when ninety-six presses hir thighs tight around him, legs wrapping around his waist and clasping, fixing their lower halves flush together. ninety-six, as hir impressive physique allows, rides him like that, from underneath him, and yuma pants, feeling the beginnings of perspiration now that ninety-six, even at hir most passive, claws for some way to control their situation.

“ _move_ , yuma,” ze snaps, and yuma perks up as some of the familiar surliness he’s come to associate with the number comes back.

and he huffs, his laugh soft before he shakes his head and apologizes, “yeah.” ninety-six’s eyes narrow at his response, and he releases ninety-six’s arms to hold the number around hir waist, hugging them together as he follows ninety-six’s suggestion and humps hir. ninety-six’s hands come down and reach his shoulders when he adds quietly at hir ear, “thank you.”

ninety-six’s hands clench his flesh, hard enough to bruise should ze keep them like that, but though yuma whimpers, he’d expected it, loathe as ninety-six might always be when faced with yuma’s openings for affection. he rocks against ninety-six harder, part as an apology and part just to please hir – not that he regrets expressing his appreciation.

fingers travel back to his hair and pull him close to ninety-six’s face again, the number leaning up part-way for another kiss. yuma sinks back into his role, then, pushing at ninety-six’s tongue and forcing the kiss into something deep and slow, and he almost smiles into the kiss when it occurs to him to slow his thrusts too. that gets ninety-six’s attention, the number leaning back with the intention of urging him to go back to his previous pace.

“is it hard?” yuma asks before ninety-six can get a word out. “not being able to use all of you? you’ve been holding yourself back.” he pecks the number on the cheek and teases, “for me, right?”

“don’t _flatter yourself_ ,” ze grumbles. yuma smiles but knows the truer reason for ninety-six’s gentleness.

still, he goes on, recognizing another way to show his gratitude that ninety-six would approve of more than just hearing yuma’s words. “do you want to take them out?”

ninety-six pauses, giving yuma near free reign on their movements. “what?”

“you can,” yuma permits, honing in on the emotions ninety-six displays and warm from the fact that he’d inspired such delight. “i know you want to. just to– to hold me, nothing else.” he corrects as soon as the thought occurs to him, but he doesn’t know if ninety-six’s imagination led hir the same path, the excitement in hir face not fading. “i’ll let you.”

it seems ninety-six isn’t the type to be told twice. yuma has never seen hir do this from so close, nor does he recall a time ze’s branched hirself out this slowly. the tentacles appear from hir sides, several curling up and around yuma like giant fingers extending from underneath him and coming to enclose. yuma gapes at the appendages, their bending over him making him reminiscent of a trap, but he keeps his fears to himself, swallowing the sudden urge to back down from the allowance.

ninety-six wraps hirself around his limbs, and extra snake sliding around his thigh and another to his waist. one more experimentally reaches yuma’s throat, stroking the side of it, and yuma takes a shaky breath. “not too tight,” he warns.

ninety-six answers him with a cruel smile even as ze follows through with the request. “finally scared?” yuma feels hir slither around his neck, loose enough that the elongated part of hir drapes to reach his chest.

the number’s extensions apply just as much pressure as hir hands have, and yuma replies, “no,” not sure if he’s telling the truth or not, or if he’d mind it regardless of what the honest answer is. “you’re being so good for me,” he admits, not helping but to praise the number, as he always desires to do when ninety-six does anything even remotely kind. he only hopes ninety-six can accept it now, as opposed to dismissing yuma as ze’d usually do, but pushes his luck and touches on his earlier words. “it looks so good on you.”

ninety-six tightens around him, in all the places where yuma is held, but hir response is as playful as it is bitter. “your domesticated little benefit,” ze calls hirself, and yuma is tempted to rebuke the comment but lets it slide for now; it’s what ninety-six seems to prefer at the moment.

the tentacle does the pulling for hir this time, forcing yuma to dip down and continue from where they left off. yuma leads the kiss again, and ninety-six mentions into his mouth, “do you know what else this obedient pet of yours can do for you?”

there’s not as much resentment as hir last description, but yuma feels a stab of uncertainty and something close to guilt anyway. he rocks against ninety-six harder. “you’re not–”

his eyes go wide and stare at ninety-six, not knowing how to take the sudden change in their position, in the sudden sensation of his length _penetrating_ , no longer just humping against the smooth surface between the number’s legs but somehow sliding in deep.

ninety-six cries out, hir back arching and head thrown back, the tentacles latched onto yuma not the only thing tightening around him anymore, and yuma gasps, reeling back and making to slide himself out and off the number. “n-ninety-six, i’m sorry–”

he doesn’t even get as far as out of ninety-six, the other gripping onto yuma tighter with all hir limbs and keeping him there. yuma stammers even as the tentacles force him back onto ninety-six. “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to hurt–”

“shut _up_ ,” ninety-six sighs, and yuma registers the bliss in hir voice, in the half-lidded look of hir eyes. “yuma.” yuma is still somewhere between frozen and limp from the shock of ninety-six having _molded_ to him, _for_ him, of ninety-six’s sudden reaction to yuma hitting a spot that yuma’d always assumed had no stimuli, and only jerks himself out of that trance at the feel of ninety-six moving him hirself, hir limbs controlling his hips to imitate their previous movements.

and ninety-six moans. yuma lets ninety-six rock the both of them for a bit more, wanting the number hirself to get used to the feeling, to set hir own pace. “…ninety-six?”

“yuma.” ninety-six focuses on him once more, and yuma shudders from the lust he sees. “you’re big,” ze blunts.

“and you’re…” yuma doesn’t know how to say it, or what to say exactly. _you’ve **literally** changed – again_ , is what goes through his mind.

“keep going,” ninety-six directs, hands coming to stroke yuma’s face, hir fingers scraping into his hair. “keep moving. big, sweet boy, keep moving.”

yuma does, taking another deep, shuddering breath as he finds their rhythm again, struck by both the fact that he’s _actually inside_ another person in a way he’s never been with anyone – and with _ninety-six_ , of all people – and that ninety-six is actually _letting him_. yuma watches ninety-six’s reactions, seemingly so genuine and enraptured, and hopes the number is being as sincere as ze looks.

instead of trying for another _thank you_ , yuma dips down, pecking ninety-six’s lips before biting hir open neck at the spot that had made hir almost keen before. ninety-six clenches around him, and yuma rams into that, knowing it to be more rewarding for ninety-six than any verbally given gratitude or sweet praises would be.

he keeps up the act, pushing down ninety-six’s efforts to lead their next lip-to-lip kiss and biting hir mouth at any attempt to switch control. the charade probably inspires something in ninety-six to revert back to their original play as well. ze growls, too aggressive now for yuma to fall back completely into the illusion, despite that yuma is pounding into hir, rocking steady and fast and _good enough_ that the number has been cooing his name between moans.

“ _what do you want_ ,” ninety-six submits once more from underneath him. with the nails digging too hard onto his back, with the teeth and hostility yuma sees and feels in his arms, it’s hard for yuma to convince himself that he’s seeing and loving anyone but ninety-six right now, despite what the number might be going for. “ _what do you want, yuma…_ ”

the tentacles holding him close shift at his lack of response. yuma can feel them hardening, and he moans at the pinch it gives to his limbs and waist, how ninety-six and all hir tendrils tremble from the number wanting _more_ , to do more. yuma can see it clear as day – part of him has recognized it for a while but never acknowledged it: that ninety-six would maim for a chance for them to do this again, positions switched; that even now, the number is torn with whether to let it continue like this or to flip them over and wreck yuma into thrice the mess he’s making out of ninety-six now.

in retaliation for the desire, yuma slows down, pulling back out of ninety-six completely and sliding gently in again, teasing. ninety-six seethes at him, claws clenching at his back and the tentacle around yuma’s neck coiling. before ninety-six can continue the punishment, yuma leans down on his own, lips brushing past ninety-six’s and moving close to the number’s ear.

“that’s enough.” his hand finds ninety-six’s hair and grips. “you already know. just follow my lead–” when he slides out all the way from ninety-six again, the number allows it, whining as hir hands bunch into fists. “–and _stop talking_.”

it’s a different kind of pleasure, yuma thinks – watching the animosity cloud ninety-six’s features and knowing he can get away with it, that ninety-six wants to smack the smugness that the power inspires in him but _can’t_.

maybe this is what ninety-six meant when ze’d admitted to sometimes riling yuma up on purpose, as though there’s some type of joy to be gained from seeing yuma grumble or roar. he can understand the sentiment now. ninety-six does grow quiet, eyes narrowing to slits in hir sulkiness even as ze continues to sigh and moan from him, but otherwise ze makes no comment, as though yuma might as well have gagged hir.

yuma can’t help but break the pretense at that, however briefly. “you’re so cute.” yuma hides the sincerity behind a mocking tone, and ninety-six’s teeth clench. “what? you can give me sweet talk, but i can’t to you?”

“yours is infuriating,” ninety-six scorns. without warning, the noose ze kept around yuma’s throat tightens, not choking but clasping tight enough that deeper breaths become compulsory, and quickly, the rest of ninety-six follows suit, digging into yuma’s skin enough that yuma wonders if their marks will stay on him afterward.

he stays calm regardless –  _has to_ , really, if he wants this to continue uninterrupted. “behave,” he hisses through his teeth.

“or what?” and as always when ninety-six goads him, ze leers easily. “what would you do, yuma? show me.”

yuma moves his arms, or tries to, to grab at ninety-six, but his limbs remain unwillingly steady, ninety-six’s smile growing with jest. despite _knowing_ that ninety-six _can’t_ hurt him, what ninety-six would obviously prefer they do unsettles yuma enough that he dreads that the number would _try_ if this continues, if yuma lets ninety-six manhandle him enough to cause him to panic, to make his closest friend come running at that sense of danger.

so yuma grounds, “take your shit off me if you want to find out.” his pace slows again, enough that ninety-six’s hisses dissolve into outright whines. the squint ze gives yuma is closer to beseeching than glaring, and yuma stops.

ninety-six doesn’t release hir tentacles from yuma, and after a brief moment, yuma makes to sit back.

“go to your knees,” yuma switches tactics and directs, voice softened by the scandalized look he knows the number will throw his way. ninety-six gawks at him, and yuma challenges, “you won’t do it?” it’s also a possibility that ninety-six will stop playing, that ze will either get bored or yuma will ask hir of something ze can’t find it in hirself to give, but yuma goes on anyway, chancing. “finally stopping?”

the jibe in his voice gets ninety-six moving, the number shifting to follow yuma’s commands, and yuma adds gently, “it’s either kneel or just get rid of these.” he waves one arm, displaying the snake wrapped around it, tight enough that yuma would be more surprised to find no mark there later on than he would at seeing nothing. “i gave you a chance to hold onto me properly, but if you can’t do even that right, we’ll go back to using just our hands.”

ninety-six says nothing, the disagreement clear in hir face, but ze moves, and yuma is half dumbfounded at ninety-six propping yuma up while the number hirself really does go on hir knees, sinking lower and staring at yuma as ze starts to kiss the erect penis between them.

yuma whimpers, the new sensation of a tongue touching there making him back away in reflex. ninety-six holds him still, tentacles sitting him almost like a throne would, and the number’s eyes grow lidded as ze watches yuma gasp and moan once ze takes yuma wholly in his mouth.

yuma’s hands twitch and go to grab onto ninety-six’s hair again but are held back, the restraints not giving way. “…ninety-six!” he scolds, struggling against the things binding him. “let go! ninety-six, let _go_ of me!”

his partner lets go of part of him, lips slipping off his hardness with a vulgar smack, and ninety-six rears up, propped on hir knees and facing yuma squarely. hands come to softly cup yuma’s face before ninety-six leans in and kisses him, pressing and with fangs nipping at his lips.

yuma opens his mouth to it, more or less just shoving his tongue into ninety-six’s mouth, invasive and too fast, reminding the number of the power ze had agreed to give yuma during this exchange.

ninety-six stares at his mouth when he breaks the kiss, and compliments, “you’re bleeding.”

“we can’t do it your way.” yuma stands his ground. ninety-six nearly glares at him once more. “not right now. maybe…” he swallows. “…soon. later, another time, i’ll let you.” if the commitment and knowledge of just how volatile ninety-six’s nature could be had made him hesitate, the look of genuine admiration and delight that ninety-six’s face relaxes into at his words makes something in his chest warm, and he continues, “i promise.” he moves his arms again, letting ninety-six feel the muscles there flex and strain under hir. “but we both know what will happen if things get too rough now. let me move, or we have to stop.”

 _–or astral will come._ unless yuma surrenders so completely to ninety-six, any significant forcefulness from ninety-six’s part would immediately alert hir better, and for now, yuma could hold the fact over the number’s head.

ninety-six’s arms come over yuma’s shoulders and around his neck as the rest of hir extra limbs slip away, retracting gradually, as though each feels its owner’s reluctance to submit. when ninety-six finally clears hirself of tentacles, yuma’s wraps bruising arms around hir waist and teases, “you didn’t have to make it _all_ go away.” he hugs ninety-six closer to kiss hir cheek. “i just wanted to be able to move.”

“you’re despicable.” ninety-six grits hir teeth and shows them, but hir words are spoken softly; an admiration.

yuma picks up on it, smiling softly against ninety-six’s neck. “and does that look good on _me_?”

the number inhales, sharp and long, and it’s enough of an affirmative for yuma. ninety-six rocks him back, and yuma lets hir this time, more confident that he’ll be treated more gently than before. he flops on his back, the number crawling on top of him, flexed and snake-like, until ze fits hirself gradually onto yuma’s erection once again.

they both groan, and yuma barely locks the request he wants to make in his throat – for ninety-six to revert back to hir original form, the purpose of the skin ze’s wearing now having become moot for yuma a surprisingly long while ago.

he bites his lip and tries thrusting again from the new position. ninety-six’s hands come to hold his waist down. “let me,” the number requests. yuma’s throat clogs again from the unexpected generosity, regardless of whether or not ninety-six just wants this for the sake of feeling some control. “i’ll finish.”

he doesn’t need to nod, ninety-six already riding him, slow at first. it’s actually harder not to move along with hir than it is to stay still, but ninety-six doesn’t object to the slight movements his body make of its own accord, nor of yuma’s hands palming themselves on hir thighs. ninety-six’s hands meet his and pull them higher, so that he grasps onto the number’s hips as ze speeds up.

yuma has no idea where ninety-six could’ve learned to move like this, like hir whole body is swaying and dancing to the rhythm of the movement from hir hips and pelvis. but however ninety-six learned – if it’s _innate_ – yuma has to admit that it’s impressive, the show the number is giving, the view yuma has of hir from beneath hir, how ninety-six still manages to seem so imposing even now, at the moment when ze’s giving yuma so much.

the thought stirs something in him, and he feels his cheeks burn as he finally reaches his breaking point. yuma’s moan is high and long, and his head falls back completely onto the cushions as he empties himself on ninety-six, the number pulling out in time to watch yuma spill.

he’s still panting, euphoria staying in his blood for a long moment more, and ninety-six waits with him, resting on his thighs and staring. hir hand is loose in his, but ze doesn’t pull away when he holds onto it.

“thank you.” he can’t help it, but before ninety-six can voice a reaction, he adds, “but this really wasn’t what i had in mind when you said you’d _help_ me, as nice as it was.”

“didn’t it, though?” ninety-six’s voice is oddly quiet, and it jars yuma despite the sardonicism. “you look better.” he shakes himself from the spell enough to peer at his new lover.

ninety-six had reverted back to hir usual form and appearance, and leans on the couch’s back, leisure and loose, looking as satisfied as a large cat full from a recent meal. hir eyes are soft as they settle on yuma, half-lidded and rested.

he props himself up higher, and eyes the seed that’d come from him on ninety-six’s legs, spread from having dripped over the curve of them.

he blushes again at the sight, and tentatively brings it up. “why did you… what did you do to your…”

“isn’t it _obvious_.” ninety-six reprimands. “not even the demonstration was enough for you? you’re truly hopeless.”

“i didn’t mean it _like that_ ; i know _what_ you did!–” yuma gives a half-truth. he doesn’t know, really, what the nature of ninety-six’s peculiar ability to morph really is, if even astral has some similar power that ze hasn’t displayed in front of yuma or not. he hesitates in pressing for more details, and ninety-six speaks up again.

“i made a space for you to fit inside me as i’ve observed humans tend to want to do,” ninety-six explains, blasé. “because i wanted to.”

the hand gripping ninety-six’s squeezes tighter, but yuma doesn’t repeat himself, letting his emotions speak through the act. he tries instead, “but…did _you_ …” _–feel good too?_

he doesn’t finish. ninety-six pulls from his hold and slides down from the couch. yuma chances a peek at the area between hir legs where he’d made himself quite at home just minutes ago, and sees only a closed, smoother surface. ninety-six stands and stretches, seemingly unaffected from their previous actions, and turns back to yuma with a smile.

“maybe i should be the one thanking you.” ze gives him another toothy grin and drawls, “this is quite a way to pass time.”

it doesn’t answer yuma’s silent question entirely, but he relaxes and lets the subject drop when ninety-six turns and walks back deeper into hir home.

“uhm!” yuma bolts up, rushing the few steps it takes to latch onto ninety-six’s arm. the number stops and blinks down at him. “let me, uh,” he stammers at hir dumbfounded look. “let me– …clean you up.”

he catches ninety-six gawk at him briefly before hir smile slowly returns to hir face, and ze teases. “you want to _take care of me?_ ”

“yeah, so?” yuma huffs at the sneer in ninety-six’s voice, and pulls the number with him to the bathroom. “just let me do this. it’s traditional for people who just–…you know, did what we did.”

“we had sex,” ninety-six deadpans, and yuma ducks his head down to avoid ninety-six’s taunting.

“yeah, i know! we had sex!” he snaps, feeling playful despite the company and the situation they’re in. “we’ve gotten to this point; there’s no harm in going a step further. just– do this with me too, for me, alright?”

ninety-six laughs at his expense but obliges, waiting expectantly when they get to the bath and yuma runs the water. ze doesn’t wait for yuma to tell hir to get in the wash, and sighs as yuma gently soaks the water onto hir skin, rinsing the little dirt there, before working on himself.

it is something novel to ninety-six, ze must admit. power has always been accompanied with expectations for violence and pompous displays of dominance, of hir donning the body of a politician and watching hir subordinates scramble to follow hir orders or grant hir smallest wish.

and until recently, ninety-six would have preferred it if yuma, too, would just roll over and simper at the snap of the number’s fingers. but this moment differs even with ninety-six’s most recent desires to have yuma bark and bite alongside the number and astral against their mutual enemies; there is something vaguely empowering too in the soft way yuma handles hir now, willing and of his own volition, like ninety-six’s comfort is the only important thing to him, like ninety-six is a sovereign and yuma hir faithful attendant.

yuma dries ninety-six first, and doesn’t catch the small leer ninety-six gives him as he bends to wipe ninety-six’s lower half with a towel, his hands brushing hir legs and the part above them that ze’d so liberally let him play in. ze’d been right to pull out and block yuma’s essence from staying inside hir, wearing yuma on hir front instead. the way he’d looked at ninety-six stained with pieces of himself had in it some enticing mix of guilt and admiration; it only encouraged ninety-six further to keep the fact that ze’d made sure to mold hir body to take pleasure from yuma’s shaft to hirself. let hir human wonder just how much he owes hir now.

he finishes cleaning the both of them, and ninety-six stokes the emotions yuma is now feeling – for hir. “it’s my first time bathing in this form as well.” yuma pauses mid-way through tying their towel around his waist. “beings like me don’t really _need_ to, if you haven’t noticed. astral is the one with a penchant for dabbling in human hobbies.”

yuma says nothing to that, but ninety-six catches the renewed blush on his cheeks. he leads them out and to the bedroom, where ninety-six expects him to replace the shirt ze’d ruined in hir excitement earlier. yuma doesn’t wear one yet, though; taking a large top out of the drawers, he goes to where ninety-six is instead and pulls it over the number’s head.

ninety-six reacts much the same as when yuma’d suggesting washing hir, silently wondering when yuma’s mother-henning would end, if ninety-six would even want it to. yuma pouts silently at ninety-six’s questioning look, but turns away and does as ninety-six thought he would, covering himself with a new shirt.

“i’m gonna get my pants back. thanks for not tearing up _that_ part, at least,” yuma grumbles, striding past ninety-six, but continues speaking while going across the house. “i… it’s my first time too, doing this, but i’ve heard about what people are supposed to do _after_ , you know. like rest, or clean up, or eat.” he strips himself of the towel and quickly puts on his bottoms again, face hidden but movements jerky enough that ninety-six suspects that, in this aftermath, yuma feels bashful of his nakedness, the fool. “ _you_ obviously don’t need to do any of that. but if there’s anything you _do_ need, tell me, okay?”

and ninety-six supposes that ze can understand, a bit, why yuma’s cluelessness has often struck astral and their acquaintances as endearing, however misguided yuma’s efforts tend to be. ninety-six smiles at him, holding fast to the obvious answers that yuma would either outright refuse to do for hir or would have no power to follow through with anyway: _do only what astral and i think is best_ , or _abandon your loyalty for **hir** and be only mine_ , or _help me break the limits astral put on my will and power_.

“–and i’ll keep my promise, too, if that counts for anything.” yuma’s determination shines, eyes boring directly at ninety-six before he flushes once more and moves to tidy the couch. “the one i made to you. i wasn’t just saying it. i really want to now–” he glances at ninety-six. “–when i’m ready. soon.”

“what are you talking about.” yuma grits his teeth at the response, and glares at ninety-six with annoyance rather than with the rage or arrogance that had been so wonderfully presented for ninety-six before.

“if you don’t remember, maybe i just shouldn’t have said anything!” yuma hisses, but clarifies regardless. “i mean… when i’m ready, we can do this again, and if you want, _you_ can do it to _me_ – that’s what i mean!”

 _fuck._ ninety-six’s face breaks into a large, cheek-to-cheek smile, and yuma shudders from the thrill ninety-six expresses at just the thought of it. “oh, yuma.” ze swoops forward and grabs him by the shoulders. yuma yelps into ninety-six’s kiss, the number still smiling against him, teeth meeting his skin as they’re pressed closer together.

yuma isn’t that different from most humans, no matter how special he may be; just like most, the momentary sex and reprieve had made him forget about his troubles, the responsibilities that’d been plaguing him, and as fickle as it is of him, ninety-six finds hirself close to succumbing to that attitude hirself, the only sensations and thoughts ze could be bothered to focus on right now those of yuma. _yuma, yuma._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fin! more from this universe might come in the future. that'd be nice. 
> 
> please leave kudos to wish this couple well, or comment to give them tips on what they should do in their next sexcapade (i mean, they already have plans, but idk, if you want to contribute!) 
> 
> more fanfics can be found on my tumblr, [96blackmists.tumblr.com/fanfiction](http://96blackmists.tumblr.com/fanfiction)


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